A Sliver of Hope
by PennyLane1
Summary: I wrote it when on Cough syrup and coffee,But its really about the Lisbons of Course.R
1. Default Chapter

A dark soul ridden and infested with grief, all this plainly written on her youthful visage. Twin oculars of a magnificent febrile blue stared vapidly at the walls ahead, obviously attached from the world encompassing her like the air encompassed her slight insubstantial body. The sigh that escaped her reached not even the person standing but half a pace away, it simply reached the mans ears, and that all that truly mattered. Her coiled tresses, of a lovely and undening gold reached just past her slender shoulders, descending down her stiff back in such an unsetling manner it mad her seem even more so vulnerable. Slender digits bluntly clung to the books she desperately clung to,Her clammy fingerprints leaving distinguishable marks. She aknowledged no one, not a single soul, as if her mind her souly focused on something no one else could comprehend. A hauzy, almost etherial glow seemed to close upon her, her slight form even harder to make out through the dim light and the undaunting glow that seemed to follow her. At last she smiled, her single fault revealed to all that looked. The faulty teeth seemed to give her an otherwordly aura of beautiful magnitude, she perfectly knew well what those teeth said to others. She snaped her gum, green and of a taste that must have been watermelon, though her acidic saliva seemed to diminish its once strong taste. With her hand she idly flicked back her golden locks, her gaze never straying from her path ahead, she walked like the dead woman they all expected her to be. She fed there gossip willingly, as she knew her sister did volitionally. They didn't care anymore, surely they couldn't. They were already looked upon as if diseased with leprosy, outcasts outside of the white walls that constrained them at home. Without so much as a question as to how they felt on the subject of there sisters death they suffered the stares from mother, daughter, fathers and sons with a bravness that outweighted even that of the men in Vietnam {Horrible analogy, I know}. They wandered those clustered halls, they heads held high, there false cheerfulness eerie for no one expected them to act cheerful or even at all normal. They expected the Lisbon girls to do what they did, they just didn't expect them to have suffered so long and only extinguished there short-lived lives so late. They had gazed at them with knowing nudges, never once wondering what they felt, how they dreamed, what they though. Only a small group of infatuated boys knew them, or at least though they did. At least what they wished was to souly know what those troubled individuals wanted, they wanted to know, they wasted there time to try and find out the never solved puzzle. A puzzle not even the most genius of minds could solve, for the power and grief of that puzzle could leave one wounded in such a manner it could unman them with its absolute magnitude in sorrow. The tale of the once and only five Lisbon sisters could never be retold, nor simply said with a curt reply, such a tale is meant to be retold for its power to cast a weaving spell of fear, love and sorrow over a person can only be looked at with awe. Now with disgust, not with a mere respond. No the Tale of the Lisbons is a heartfelt tale of love, betrayl, darkness, blurred reality, and a confused dreamy mist, as if ones eyes were being held behind the veil of a small childs hand. They world of the Lisbon sisters is the world of a dreamer. 


	2. Chapter 2

And so It was told through the eyes of the boys, sickened with such love they could barely see through the veil of that misplaced love. Perhaps those forbidden angels did so, enchanted there unknowing souls to such an extent those boys turned to men and became stricken with a nostalgic aura. A nostalgic aura in a way that anything could trigger the memory of those lost beauties Hyena like-laughter, the clamour of cherry-wood beads, the sniffling of a nose, the scruff of a toothbrush against wool, or perhaps the simple scratch of a pen on paper. Anything, even the unforgiving stench of anothers breath that seemingly made them closer to the Lisbon's because of the stench that permeated there house after the confinement began. Those boys who single mindly thought the girls ever needed their help. Perhaps what they planned they needed not even the boys, but each other. For within each other's warm, glowing embrace they found love and trust and simply a feeling of belonging. Those hapless girls were addled in their thoughts of reality. Blurred reality, a distant dream, a broken record, and a shattered mirror. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mary, her back stiff and her digits clenched tightly within her lap sat on the grass with the undying dignity of the First lady. Where as Lux on the other hand sat in a tangled mess of legs, skirts and a rather disfigured donut. Therese and Bonnie say Indian style, passing between one another a warm drink, its contents unnamed, simply a purple liquid. There fair hair shone in the hazy light of dappled sunlight, febrile oculars reaching out to anyone, if anyone would simply look and allow themselves to be captured by that radiant unearthly light. Scratching her thigh to no certain avail, lux laughed her usual unmanning hyena laugh, a sound that caused Bonnie to spill her drink, the dark fluid dripping down her chin in slow motion. Mary smiled her demure smile, unearthing an immaculately clean tissue and pressing it into Bonnies clumsy Fingers. A nod of gratitude from Bonnie and a stifled giggle from Therese, the girls continued to sit in their tight circle, paying no one outside this humble abode a sliver of acknowledgement.  
  
{{I wrote this in a sudden fury of words...half of it doesn't make sense. How I shift through narroration and all...never the less I love it. It makes me feel rather bubbly. Review please^^}} 


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